


Restless

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Alternate Ending - Character Death, Angst, Drama, Gen, POV First Person, Post-Invasion, Short Story, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-25
Updated: 2007-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeke is the only survivor, and the guilt weighs heavy. Try as he may, he cannot escape it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** [](http://aliensouldream.livejournal.com/profile)[**aliensouldream**](http://aliensouldream.livejournal.com/) (full final beta)  
>  **A/N:** My very first Faculty fic. _Someone_ talked me into doing this ;-) Long time not posted for I don't know what reason.  
>  **Status:** finished 03/14/2006—revamped 03/08/2012  
>  **Disclaimer:** View [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/662465).
> 
> Story also available at [my LiveJournal](http://naemi.livejournal.com/20822.html).

 

I wake up to deafening silence. My head is spinning, my sight blurred; trying to blink away the wetness in my eyes doesn't help much. When I reach out to touch my forehead I feel a moist substance. Red stains on my fingertips. It takes some time until I realize it is blood: my own. Why the fuck am I bleeding?

My whole body aches and protests against standing up, but I do it anyway, even though I can move only painfully slow. A look around informs me that I am in a room, large room, messy. Beyond messy. It seems as if an earthquake struck the place and destroyed everything. Furrowing my brows causes a twinge in my head. I turn around, slowly, weakly, and all of a sudden, remembrance hits me with full force, making me tremble. I don't even recognize the desperate sound that leaves my lips and echoes in my ears as my own; all I do is wonder where they are. What happened?

Is _she_ dead?

I grit my teeth, make my way through the locker room—and stop.

Stokes is lying there. I can see her body curled up as if she was in a deep slumber, yet her chest doesn't show any sign of movement. I hold my breath as I approach; her head is buried to the curve of her own arm, almost nestled to it—but oh! I can see a trail of blood, thick and crimson on her hair, her back, the floor.

I say her name. Even as I do so, whispering, the faint sound trailing off before it could ever reach her ears, I know she wouldn't hear me anyway. I know there'll be no response ever again.

Stokely is dead.

My head spins even more at the sudden realization and I fall down on my knees beside her lifeless figure, my face buried in my hands. I whisper her name once more, and again . . . and again.

By the time I come back to reality, I find myself holding her close, crying over the body of a girl I never considered much of a friend through all those years we have known each other—and there's been many.

Slowly, I let her sink back onto the icy floor. There's a pile of old, worn blankets in the corner of the room and I grab two of them to cover her. It's not much, yet it's the best I can do for now.

Where is Casey? Did _he_ make it?

He must have, _please, dear Lord,_ he must have made it. Wouldn't the _thing_ called Marybeth have come back for me, too, if he had failed?

I am positive it would. What I can not be positive about is whether Casey has managed to escape. I need to find out.

The smell of metallic blood follows me all through the pool room. It's all over me, inside me. There's no way I will ever forget it. It follows me to the gym, even. The bleachers—I notice them first. As I walk on, eyes fixed on them, I finally see him.

Casey.

Approaching him is beyond what I can bear. I can tell he is dead right from where I stand now, right from the middle of this doomed place. He is covered in blood and some other substance I can't define, and I pray it is what's left of her.

I will never completely cope with the fact that Herrington is gone and nothing's left for me.

~ ~ ~

On that fateful night when Casey had been victorious over the Alien Queen, I turned my back on the town and travelled south until all of a sudden I started to hear a soft voice echoing in my head. It told me where to go to, and I obeyed: it didn't matter much. Sometimes, the voice which I so wanted to believe to be Casey's instructed me to correct my route until finally, I reached the coast and there it was that my mental companion decided to not bother me any further.

This is where I'm now. Foreign town, cheap hotel, far from home. I lie awake, as I do almost every night lately, staring at the ceiling and blinking tears away. It is tempting to give in to dark and icy self-pity; it doesn't make things _better_ , but it's definitely easier to give up than to fight. Every now and again, soft little sobs escape from between my closed lips. After a while, they become shaped, more desperate and when the crescendo of my voice turns into a painful forte, I understand what I have kept saying and it is never before dawn that I calm down again.

It is the same night after night after night after . . .

Two more weeks pass by. I find a job.

Another week passes. The nightly sobs start dying.

Three more days. I meet a girl at the diner: Jenna. Lovely physique. Warm, soft skin. Darting blue eyes, half hidden below her black, wild curls. Her smell reminds me of something or someone I cannot quite figure, yet it's comforting. She takes me home the same night and although she is truly wonderful, she cannot fulfill my needs or ease my longing. In the early morning hours, I pick up my clothes and leave her silently.

Upon returning home, the voice which has led me here re-enters my head and is now louder and clearer than it has ever been before. My eyelids flutter and my head feels heavier with every word I hear. My lashes are soaked with tears as I close my eyes.

It is him. Casey. In my head. Telling me things he never would have, were he still alive and well, things I'm both afraid and anticipating to hear. It is hard to decide whether this is real. A spine-tingling feeling rises from somewhere deep inside my body, rises and fills me until my knees give in to the weakness and I fall down, crying out in pain and agony.

The last thing I know is Casey telling me it's all been my fault.

~ ~ ~

When I wake up, the afternoon sun hangs low and casts a shadowy light through my dirty window. I blink slowly.

Right in front of me, so close that I could touch him if I were bold enough to reach out, I see his figure. He smiles at me, and though he seems friendly, I am scared to death.

“I've missed you, Zeke,” he whispers without moving his lips. I wonder if I am still asleep and dreaming, but he only shakes his head and makes a beautiful laughing sound: clear as water and warm as a summer breeze.

“What the fuck?” I reply low.

He laughs again.

“Will you come with me now?” he inquires, reaching out for me but not touching.

I do not know what plane he is at now, but if Heaven and Hell exist—which I never actually believed in—it must be the first.

Was I ready for Heaven?

Could I follow him there anyway?

“You can follow me any place I go,” Casey whispers softly. “You are meant to be with me.”

Be with him. Just with him.

I nod and take his hand. It is uncomfortably warm, hot even, burning my skin.

And the fire burns my body and soul as I follow him to wherever he may lead me.


End file.
